Cochise College Llnrfes Douglas, AZ 866a7 The Cochise Quarterly

Volume 20 Number 1 Spring, 1990 TABLE OF CONTENTS

Douglas Airman Survives 2,000·footFall . .. . 3 Training at Douglas Army Air Field by Don J. Armand 6 History ofTenth Street usa, Douglas...... 19 Mexican Crustals: A Douglas Contribution To The War Effort by Lewis Orrell...... 23 Book Reviews by Cindy Hayostek 47

Aboutthe cover: Thesecrystals ofoptical calcite, which probably were from the Iceberg deposit near Dixon, N.M., were photographed in 1940 by Bausch & Lomb. The depositwasbeingminedby Dr. Edwin Mcintosh Stanton, Jr., who later moved his operations to Douglas. For the story, see page 23. (Bausch & Lomb photo)

Contents of THE CaCmSE QUARTERLY may not be used without the permission of the Cochise County Historical and Archaeological Society. P.O. Box 818, Douglas, Arizona 85608-0818 ISSN 0190-80626 DOUGLAS AIRMAN SURVIVES 2,OOO·FOOT FALL

Editor's Note: This article is printed almostverbatim from a U.S. Army news release thatis in the filesofthe Cochise County Historical Museum in Douglas.

BUSHNELLGENERAL HOSPITAL, Brigham City, Utah -Sgt. Albert W. Vawter of Douglas, Ariz. plummeted 2,000 feet to the earth when his parachute failed to open after he jumped from a smashed Flying Fortress during a bombing mission over Germany this April. End ofthe story? No. Sgt. Vawter, a 36-year-old gunner, is still alive. He is now receiving medical care at Bushnell General Hospital for his multipule injuries, including the partial amputation ofhis right leg. A ball turret gunner, the Arizonan was on his seventh mission. During a raid Apr. 7, 1945 on rail yards at Luneburg near Hamburg, Vawter's B-17 was hit by an attacking German fighter. "The Messerschmidt was coming in at us when one ofthe other gunners hit him in the wing. The plane went out ofcontrol and crashed into us near the tail, cuttingthe tail right offour ship," Vawter explained. When he saw the collision, Sgt. Vawterbegan to prepare to jump from the ship, which at this time was flying at 19,000 feet at the start of its bombing run. In the single minute it took him to rip offhis oxygen mask, slip into his chest parachute and turn the ball turret over preparatory for jumping, the big ship was out ofcontrol and had started its death spin. Four of the crew members managed to get out, however, before the Fortress started its spin. As the ship started its downward spiral, Vawter struggled to reach the open end of the turret but centl'ifugal force flung him back to the bottom of the plane and away from the escape hatch. "Finally, by inching my hand along the turretfloor I managed to grab the edge of the door," he said. Then with desperate efforts, he pushed and kicked his body until his second hand had a grip on the doorway also. Vawter then squirmed until his head and shoulders were free of the plane. The terrific pull ofwind yanked his body from the ship like the core slips out of a banana. Sgt. Vawter took a quick look below - it seemed about 2,000 feet to the ground. He had fallen nearly three miles straight down since the ship had started its spin. He fell free from the ship, end over end, and pulled the rip cord ofthe chest chute as soon as his feet were pointed downwards. He felt elatedas the silkbegan to stream upwardsby hisface andVawter sethis body for the shock ofthe opened chute. But nothing happened. "I looked up," he said, "and the silk was just streaming straight in the air." In those few seconds he was falling bullet-like beneath the unopened chute, the Arizonan struggled frantically with the shroud lines. Even as he tore feet first into the earth, he still was working the lines, still looking up at the long useless silk streamer. When he hit, he was knocked unconscious. As Vawter recon- structs it, he hit feet first and then jacknifed over face first. He landed in a plowed field; the freshly dug rows were just cushion enough to save his life. "I wasn't out very long," he said. ''When I came to the plane was crashed about 150yards away andburning. As I laythere in the dirt, the bomb load we hadn't dropped began to explode." Then some ofthe black-uniformed S.S. troops arrived. One ofthe officers walked around the Arizonan. "He called me 'swine' and then spit at me," Vawter said. Another officer drew a gun. The Arizonan, so miraculously spared moments before, thought that this really was the end and waited for a final shot. But the shot never came. Some German air corps men arrived and, after argument, took charge ofthe Yank. One ofthe air corpsmen removedVawter's chute con- tainer and placed it under his head. Another gave him a drink of water to help remove the mouthful of dirt he'd gotten when he landed. Looking around, Vawter found he had buried himself two feet deep into the earth. Although he "landed" about noon, it was 5:30 in the afternoon before the Germans moved him. Instead of an ambulance the Germans used a horse-drawn hayrack. Sgt. Vawter was placed atop the load and covered with his chute. "The air corpsmen were afraid the civilians would kill me ifthey caught me," he explained. "They went through Luneberg to the hospital as fast as they could." That night his leg was amputated. On Apr. 22, British troops rolled into Luneberg and liberated the Yank. A veteran of army service since Sept. 1942, Sgt. Vawter is married. His wife, the former Arnette Stuppi, lives at 1160 10th St., Douglas. Sgt. Albert Vawter of Douglas, Ariz., survivor of a 2,000 foot fall beneath an unopened parachute when his Flying Fortess was shot down over Germany, shows WAC Pvt. Margaret E. Pakala, Blue Island, 111., a souvenir from Germany at Bushnell General Hospital where he was apatient. Sgt. Vawterwas miraculously saved when he landed in a freshly plowed field and was recovering from multiple injuries. (U.S. Army photo) TRAINING AT DOUGLAS ARMY AIR FIELD

By Don J. Armand

Editor's Note: On Oct. 1, 1943, Don Armand arrived atDouglas Army Air Field for advanced pilot training. He had already completed eight months oftraining atbases in Hemet and Merced, California. The Douglas field was begun in the spring of 1942 and graduated its first class in January, 1943. A large number of pilots, including many from Nationalist China, underwent training here before the base was closed in 1946.

Douglas was a small town located in the southeast comer of Arizona, and about as close to the Mexican border as you can get. If isolation was part of the criterion for selecting locations for training bases, then Douglas was a good choice. The nearesttown ofany size was

The smokestacks of the C & A Smelter provided a fine landmark for pilots like Don Armand during training at the Douglas Army Air Field. (Courtesy Don Armand)

6 Tucson, some 100 miles to the northwest. So for the advanced Aviation Cadets stationed at Douglas, there was little to distract them from their training. The air field was located a few miles north of town and was another typical wartime base with mostly tarpaper buildings and bar- racks. The field itselfconsisted of ronways instead oflarge mats as we had at Hemet and Merced. It was located in a reasonably flat valley with mountains to the east and west. The elevation of the field was around 4,150 feet and the mountains varied mostly between 6,000 to 8,000 feet with some peaks goingup to around 9,500 feet. You learned to pay close attention to your altitude when flying here, especially at night. One landmark I remember very well from that area was the C and A Smelter, located near the town. It was a fairly large complex of typical plant buildings, but the thing that stood out were the smoke stacks. There were three or four of them, rather tall, and they belched smoke constantly. The weather here was usually good and that smoke could be S"een from a long way off. The cadet barracks were aboutthe same as those atMerced, with rooms either side ofa center hallway. The latrine was at one end ofthe building and followed the usual pattern. We still had to keep up our quarters and inspections were a regular thing. Even though we were in advanced trainingand not too far from being commissioned officers, we were still Aviation Cadets. The tactical officers who were over us made sure we always remembered our position. They were a pretty decent bunch and as long as you kept to the business at hand, you had no problems with them. Each day was still divided in two; half for ground school and athletics, inc1udingdrill, and the otherhalfforflying. The ground school subjects included aero-equipment, aircraftrecognition, naval identifica- tion, bombing and armament, medical training, navigation, meteorology and code. Our instructors in ground school were mostly commissioned officers who were not rated (pilots), but we did have one who wore pilot wings. He taught navigation and was somewhat older than most of the others. We wondered about this until someone found out that he was a pilot in World War I. Though he was considered too old to fly in World War II, he could still instruct in ground school. As I remember, he was a very good instructor and was popular with the cadets. Our training in weapons handling continued with firing a specified number of rounds using the Thompson sub, Colt .45, .30 calibercarbine and skeet. Most ofus didfairly well on everythingbutthe Colt. As we had done in our previous courses, we had to fire it with one hand and it was just hard to get good scores. Some of the fellows, however, did very well with it. '1 The Cessna AT-H, or UC-78, was the first twin-engined plane aviation cadets encountered during their training. Nicknamed the "Bamboo Bomber," it was flown extensively at the Douglas Army Air Field. (Courtesy Don Armand)

Our physical training continued much the same as in basic. There were no new or different routines in this; it was merely the con- tinuation of a program designed to keep us in good physical condition. At Douglas, as at Hemet and Merced, our main interest was the flight line and the planes. Douglas Army Air Field was a multi-engine training school for advanced cadets. When you completed this course, you would be awarded the wings ofan Army pilot and commissioned as a secondlieutenant or appointed a flight officer. This was a new wartime rank and fell between master sergeant and second lieutenant, same as a warrant..officer, junior grade. The aircraft at Douglas were'Cessna AT-17s and UC-78s. They were the same plane; one was classified as an advanced trainer and the other a utility cargo, but they all served as advanced trainers. The AT-17 was a conventional twin-engine airplane with two main wheels and a tail wheel. Itwas ofmetal and wood construction with fabric covering. The wingspan was about 42 feet and it weighed around .. two engines were Jacobs R-775-9 seven cylinder air cooled radials of 245 hp each. Some of the planes had fixed pitch wood props while others had the steel constant speed props which gave better per- formance. 8 All the planes at Douglas were painted silver with large black identification numbers. The official factory name for the AT-17 was "Bobcat" but it was known affectionately as the "Bamboo Bomber" because ofits partial wood construction. The day we went to the flight line and met ourinstructorsfinally came and we felt as though we were back in our element. My instructor was 1st Lt. Perry B. Brakke, who had been instructing for a good while. He was quiet and easy-going most ofthe time but ifyou fouled up very much, he was not hesitant about expressing himself, quite bluntly, on your abilities as a pilot. Lt. Brakke began familiarizing us with the AT-17 immediately and, needless to say, we could see it was going to keep us a bit more busy than theBT-13. The flight instruments were pretty much the same, but the engine instruments and controls were double and this took some getting used to. Again, as in basic, we had to take blindfold checks on the cockpit layout once we had learned it. The cabin was pretty roomy, with a seatfor the pilot and co-pilot which were side by side. Across the rear ofthe cabin was a long bucket seat which would seat three people. By using this seat for one or two extra students, the instructor could save having to return to the field when finished with the first student. One thing which was different was flying an airplane with side- by-side seatingfor the pilots, which putyou to one side ofthe center line. It took a while to get used to, as you felt the plane was in a crab all the time. After a while though, you didn't notice it.

The corners of 10th Street and FAvenue in 1943 had on them the post office. a Standard gas station, and Piggly Wiggly and Pay 'n' Takit grocery stores. (Courtesy Don Armand)

9

I - • My first flight in the AT-17 was Oct. 7, 1943 and as such was a familiarization flight to show the flying area and feel out the plane. In addition to the main field atDouglas, we had several auxiliary fields which we used; I believe there were four in all. The only two I remember were at McNeal, to the north ofthe main field, and Hereford Army Air Field to the west of Bisbee. Hereford was not a full time hase and was used by us a little later on in our training as a bivouac base to simulate combat theater operations. There were only a few tarpaper barracks there and the only heat they had were pot-bellied stoves. At night we had to organize shifts to keep the stoves going as it really got cold there. Two other fields we used on occasion were atCochise and Rodeo. These were sod fields and were called CAA (Civil Aeronautics Admini- stration) Intermediate Fields. Located adjacent to low frequency radio range stations, they were part of the airways system. The AT-17 was not a hard plane to fly, once you got the hang of handlingtwo engines. As soon as we had a Iittle time init, ourinstructors began giving us single-engine drill. This was to get us proficient in handling the plane with one engine out. They could do this by switching gas valves while you weren't looking. When the fuel was exhausted from the lines on the engine they selected, you were suddenly on one engine. Another way they did it was simply to pull one throttle back. The Hamilton-Standard constant speed props were non-feathering, so with the engine in idling position, the windmilling prop simulated a feathered prop. It worked the same with the wood props. There was no doubt about what was happening when an engine went out, as the plane slewed around decisively toward the dead engine. You had to correct immediately with full opposite rudder to maintain straight flight. The control pressures in the AT-17 were not too heavy and you could easily hold the rudder in yourself, but it helped to use the trim tab to relieve some of the pressure. Once you had maintained straightflight, youhadto go through your single-engine procedure toget the plane set up for sustained flight on one engine. Airwork in the AT-17 covered all maneuvers such as climbs, turns, slow flying, stalls and descents. All these were done with both engines running. We were also taughthow to make turns on one engine, into the good engine or into the dead one. We also did stalls on one engine, straight ahead, in turns, clean, and with wheels and flaps down. One feature of multi-engine flying which was different was flying with a yoke, orwheel,instead ofa stick. Youhadto handletheyoke with your left hand and throttles with your right, which was opposite from the single engine trainers we had learned in. Ofcourse, when you were in the co-pilot or instructor's seat, you were back to the old way. It all took some getting used to, especially from the right seat, as 10 all the flight instruments were on the left side ofthe panel in front ofthe pilot. You had to switch attention back and forth pretty fast sometimes and your head did a lot of swivelling. My first solo hop in the AT-17 came on Oct. 13 after 5-1/2 hours of dual. It was solo in the sense that I was pilot-in-command, with a fellow cadet riding as co-pilot. Our solo work was always done this way; we each flew one half ofthe time scheduled to us. There were four ofus underLt. Brakke, and we alternated flying with each other. Two ofthe fellows were okay, but the third was a little guy who was extremely cocky and had a short fuse. Each time I had to fly with him I liked itless and less. I knew it wasn'tjustme because the other two fellows had the same problems. The straw that broke the camel's back came one day when I was riding co-pilotfor him. While still rolling on the runway after a landing, he let the plane drift too far to the right and started passing dangerously close to the runway marker lights. These lights were high enough to damage a propeller and possibly the landing gear.

Part of Class 43-K posed in front of a AT-17 for a photo that appeared in an aviation cadet yearbook. Back row, left to right, John J. Askins,James W. Asmus, Don J. Armand, Charles S. Armstrong, Nic O. Arie; front row, Donald P. Allen, Lawrence W. Allen, and Dixon J. Arnold. (Courtesy Don Armand)

11 As he kept drifting toward the next light ahead, I realized he would hit it and told him so, but he did nothing. I knew I wasn't going to let us hit the light as long as I could do something, so I hit the left rudder pedal and touched the brake enough to miss the light. He was stunned and immediately stopped the plane and started cursing me out for taking over while he was in the pilot's seat. I tried to explain what had happened, but he only screamed louder. Lt. Brakkehappened to be there in another plane with one ofthe other students, so I called him on the radio and asked him to taxi over to where we were so I could talk to him. When he came over, I went to his plane, engines still running, and explained to him what had hap- pened. After I finished, I respectfully told him I didn't want to fly with that fellow any more and he respected my request, which surprised me. The whole incident was upsetting to me because I got along well with my fellow classmates and had never had any such problem. Formation flying in the AT-17 was nice. Itwas heavier than the BT-13 and thus more stable to hold in position once you got there. Re- sponse to throttle changes was somewhat slower, but this was overcome with experience as you learned to anticipate what was needed to hold a good position. We usually flew a three ship V, and occasionally a six ship group, with the second V a little below and behind the lead ship. While in basic, we flew only day formation, but in advanced we startednightformation too. I mustadmititwas different atfirst. All you could see were the wingand taillights ofthe lead ship, and sometime the exhausts. The faint shape of the lead plane was rather hard to use in judging your distance from it, so we didn't fly as close as in day. One thing that was hard to get used to was not having the horizon as a reference, with the resulting vertigo. You had to force yourself to ignore what your head was telling you and concentrate on holding your position relative to the lead ship. By the time you had followed him around a few turns in both di- rections, your sense ofbalance was screaming that you were in a steep divingspiral. Itwas prettytough to ignoreyourhead when youreyes told you that you were okay in relation to the lead ship. My first flight on instruments at Douglas was on Oct. 18 and Lt. Brakke gave me a good one - it lasted two hours and fifteen minutes. The AT-17 did not have a canvas hood for the pilot's seat, as the BT-13 had in the rear seat. We had heavy celluloid sheets ofa yellowish- orange color which fit around the windows inside the cabin. The student then wore special goggles which made the windows look black and made it impossible to see outside. The instructor, or anyone not wearing the goggles, could see outside to watch for other aircraft. The AT-17 was a pretty good ship for instruments, and we had to go through all aerial maneuvers such as climbs,turns, descents, single 12 engine drill, etc. on instruments. We also made instrument take-offs. As we progressed in our instrument training, we began learning the various radio aids to navigation which were in use at that time. Principal among these were the low frequency ranges which blanketed the nation, making up the civil airways system of the United States. These ranges usually consisted offive transmitting towers, four ofthem set in a square, with the fifth in the center ofthe square. The radio range signals were transmitted from the four comer towers and voice trans- missions were from the fifth or center tower. The four outer towers were usually placed so their signal trans- missions could be headed in certain directions and in this way continu- ous airways were made. The signals oftwo towers opposite each other were the letter "A" in Morse code, dot-dash, or dit-dah. The other two towers, usually nearly atright angles to the first two, transmitted "N" in Morse, dash-dot, or dah-dit. Where the signals overlapped each other, the dots and dashes merged, making a continuous signal and this was the "beam." When near the beam but not directly in it, you heard what was called the bi- signal zone, a steady hum for the beam and a faint "A" or "N" signal, depending on which quadrant you were in. When out in the clear of a quadrant, you heard only the "A" or "N" signal. The range stations were usually placed so that one ofthe legs of the range passed overan airfield, ifthere was one nearby, and in this way you could find the field easily when making instrument approaches. By following beamsin to a station and outfrom it, you could go cross-country by airways regardless ofthe weather. Each station had its own code identification which usually consisted of two or three letters transmitted in Morse code. This transmission would usually interrupt the range signals at about one- half minute intervals. . The way you knew when you had passed over the station was when you hit what was called the cone of silence. This was an inverted cone shaped area directly over the center of the station, where the antennasignals cancelled each otherand no signal was radiated. Asyou approached the station on the beam, the strength ofthe signals gradu- ally increased until you hit the cone, then they began to diminish as you flew away from the station. It was pretty overwhelming at first, to have to be able to listen to all the signals, determine your position by bracketing a beam and identifying which legyou were on, and all the while keepingthe airplane right side up flying on instruments. As we gained in proficiency though, itbecame easier to do, exceptthat they always seemed to have something new for you to learn, just when you thought you had it down pat. The new stuffwas flying practice patterns on and offthe beams, with climbs, let-downs and procedure turns. These were necessary to be

able to fly to a station,holdin a pattern ataltitudeifso directed andmake a let-down for landing. About the time youreached a really crucial point, such as being in your let-down toward the cone with everything so far havinggone reasonablywell, the instructor would pull an engine on you. With gear down and partial flaps, you were travelling at a reduced airspeed and the sudden loss of an engine made it imperative that you maintain single engine speed. The sudden swing toward the dead engine always pulled you out of the beam, since it was pretty narrow that close to the station. Truly, it was a time leaningheavilyin favor ofpushingthe panic button, since every sense of your being and every physical appendage available to you was extremelybusy. Butwith God's help combined with our own meager abilities, we managed to cope andfinally reached a state of proficiency which allowed us to pass the required check rides. As I recalled my problems in basic, I was surprised that I never had any real trouble with instruments in advanced. A second aid to navigation was the radio compass with a loop, or circular antenna, installed on the aircraft. Some were fixed, some

In 1943, the Douglas post office towered over the palm trees planted in front of it. 14 rotated by switch and others were automatic in rotation. The direction to the station could be determined by rotating the antennauntil theminimum or"null" signal was received and the bearing could then be read on the bearing indicator. This system was useful as a back-up to the range stations. Along with our instrument training, we received a more inten- sive course in using the E-6-B computer and in filing flight plans which included weather briefings for flying cross-country. We learned proce- dures for coping with rain, thunderstorms and ice. Particular emphasis was placed on ice - the different types, where and when to expect itand how to cope with it. TheAT-17sdidnot have de-icer boots on the wings or de-icingfluidfor the props, butwe had to learn about them so we'd at least be familiar with them when we got into heavy tactical type aircraft. Cross-country flying in advanced was emphasized more than in basic. We received more instruction in all phases of planning such flights, both VFR and IFR. We also flew more hours of cross-country than in basic, with a lot ofit being at night. The terrain in that part ofthe United States was pretty rugged and not the best for a forced landing. There were places where you could have brought in a plane wheels up in daylight, butifyou had to go down atnight, your bestbetwas to bailout. We always wore chutes. Standard procedure for a forced landingin an aircraft with retractable gear was to leave the gear up-,unless you knew the field you picked to be safe for a gear down landing. I rememberone ofour night cross-countryflights when one ofmy fellow students and I got lost. Cities and small towns are pretty scarce in that area and when you can't see any patches of light to identify as check points, you can feel mighty lonesome. The nights in that country are the blackest I've ever seen, and when you're in open areas between the radio ranges, you really need to keep close watch on your position. Somehow, we finally located a small town and by circling rather low, which wasn't too smart, we were able to identify it since my friend knew the town. Knowing where we were made it a simple matter to pick a heading to the nearest beam and then go on back to Douglas. For a while though, we were in a sweat, but the old AT-17 carried enough fuel to allow for such knucklehead stunts. On Oct. 28 I took my instrument check ride with Lt. Brakke. It lasted two hours. By passing this ride, I became qualified to receive the Instrument Pilot Certificate (White) as prescribed by AAF Regulation 50-3. All students who successfully completed the course received the card, as all Army Air Corps pilots had to be instrument rated. Having this card allowed us to fly in any weather as long as the ceiling was 200 feet. If you were lucky and could go through the special instrument 15 school at Bryan, Texas, you would be issued a green card and you could fly when even the birds were walking. This, however, was not for Aviation Cadets, only graduate pilots.

As ourtrainingneared the end, we were a pretty happy bunch of ca- dets. We took our ground school and flight checks in stride, though there were still a few wash-outs. For those guysitwasheartbreaking, havinggone so far and then not make it. For those of us who did, it was a time of excite- mentand reliefthatafter 10 months of hard work, we'd at last be Army pilots. We were given a uniform allow- ance to buy our officer's clothing and this was exciting - to select and be fitted for your own uniforms. I had \never had anything like this before 1tnd, quite frankly, I was overwhelmed the materials and the custom tailor- They told us Uncle Sam wanted his officers to look good and, by gosh, they saw to it that we did. Lt" Don J.Armand About this time we were asked to make three choices of what we'd like to fly after our training. At the same time, we were told that our instructors would make a recommendation on what they felt we would do best at. Most ofthe guys wanted heavy bombers and gave this as one of their choices. Other selections were for medium or light bombers, transports and instructor. I putdown heavybombers, medium bombers and instructor. Our flying was now at a point where we were taking our last check rides in each phase and working on final polish. Once you had passed your check rides, you could relax a" little, but not to the point of getting careless or sloppy in your performance. In the back ofyour mind you knew you'd better be as good as you possibly could, as the day might corne when your life, and the lives ofothers, might depend on you. In addition to our instrument training in the planes, we also received about 10hours in the Link. Counting what I got in primary and basic, I wound up with 26 1/2 hours of Link at the end of advanced. My last few flights at Douglas as a cadet were all at night, with the last one beinga 30minute hop Dec. 1. Theseflights were all solo; that is two students, and were mostly landing practice. We made night landings using our wing lights and others without the lights. 16 These "blackout" landings were done by watching the runway marker lights at each edge ofthe runway. When you were still high up on final approach, the two rows oflights seemed to be slanted downward at the near end. As you got closer and lower, the ends nearest you seemed to rise andin this way you were able to judgeyourheightabove therunway. The closer you got, the flatter the two rows got. As you came in between them over the runway, you levelled out, still with a little power on, and started feeling for the ground. When your wheels touched, you chopped power and held it on as you slowed down and let the tail drop. We made only wheel landings in this way; in the daytime we made both wheel and three-point. Most ofus got to where we liked the blackout landings better than using lights because all the prop wash usually stirred up enough dust to cause a light haze to hang over the runway. When the glare ofthe landing lights hit this haze during your flare-out, it was hard to judge your height above the runway and there was a tendency to level out too high. Our graduation ceremony had been set for Dec. 5 and a lot ofthe

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March, 1944- a serious Lt. Armand, third from left, posed with his in twin engine advanced school at the Douglas Army Air Field in front of a Curtiss AT-9. (Courtesy Don Armand) 17 fellows had their families coming for the event. My folks couldn't make itbecause they simply couldn't afforditandmy payas a cadetdidn'thelp much. We drew $50 a month, same as a private, and $25 extra for flight pay. It was customary for mothers, wives or girl friends to pin on your wings and bars, butthose ofus who didn'thave family therehelped each other. We were all so happy to have made it that it didn't matter a lot. At the ceremony we were dressed in our new officer's uniforms and were presented with certificates attesting to the fact that we had completed the prescribed training course and were appointed pilots and Second Lieutenants or Flight Officers. Those shiny little gold bars sure looked good to me, but those shiny silver wings were what mattered the most. As your mind went back over the past 10 months of plain hard work, you remembered the hours and hours of hitting the books, seemingly endless hours ofmarching, running, cleaningbarracks, class- room work and the icing on the cake - the flying. Ah, yes the flying. With its moments of naive innocence, the shock ofyour utter incompetence and ignorance, the agonizing dread of unacceptable performance, the childlike joy of knowing you had pleased your instructor who was second only to God - all these things came rushing back in like a flood and you knew it was all worth while to have made it. For myself, I was proud in a veryhumble way, as I knew I'd have rlever made it without God's help. I was 19 years old. We also received our orders that day and I found I had been ap- pointed as an instructor in twin engine advanced at Douglas, based on the recommendation ofLt. Brakke. Out ofa class of291 graduating, they kept40 ofusas instructors, so I reallydidn'tfeel too bad. I knew theextra flying, especially as an instructor, would make me a better pilot and I hoped I could get an overseas assignment later on. We were given 10-day leaves and I went home for the first time in 10 months. I spent three days on busses going, four days at home and three days going back. When I reported back at Douglas, it was to begin a crash course in instructing and then to work with the cadets. This, in many ways, was when I really started learning how to fly.

About the author: Don Armand served two years as a pilot instructor and was discharged in January, 1946. After working 38 years first for a rail· road and then city government, he is now retired in Alexandria, La. He en- joys writing, reading, collecting avia- tion memorabilia and flying a 1946 Aeronca 7-AC "Champ," which he re- stored over a 3- 1/2 year period. 18 HISTORY OF TENTH STREET USO - DOUGLAS

Editor's Note: This article was found amongthe papers ofthe late Ruth Collins, wife oflong-time Douglas physician Paul Collins. Dated Feb. 14, 1944, the article was given to CCHAS by member Jean Karger of Douglas.

Soon after Dec. 7,1941, the first group ofservicemen, a detach- ment of cavalry, arrived in Douglas. The commanding officer of the group appeared before the Douglas Forum, an organization composed of one representativefrom every civic club in the city. The Forum metonce a month to discuss local problems and heard the CO's request that a club room be furnished for his men in downtown Douglas and that a weekly dance be given for them. The Forum asked the newly organized Red Cross Canteen Corps to arrange for and supervise the club room. The first location was at the corner of 12th Street and G Avenue in the building now occupied by the Valley Transportation System. The owners ofthe building, Mrs. William Adamson and Mr. Alfred Paul, donated these quarters for the service- men to use as a club. The rooms were furnished through the generosity of the people of Douglas with radios, victrolas, ping pong and card tables, writing desks, chairs, couches, juke box, Coca-Cola machine and a pool table. Stationery, and other games were also furnished. The club opened to the public on Feb. 14, 1942, and donations were received. On Feb. 15 the club was turned over to the soldiers. Alarge group ofvolunteer workers was organized (most ofwhom are still active) both at the Southern Pacific Railway Station Canteen and at the usa. Mrs. Paul Collins was Canteen Corps chainnan, Mrs. H. M. Lavender and Mrs. George Jackson, housing chairmen, and Mrs. C. A. Nichols, food chairman. Homemadefoods were solicitedby thefood chairman from local women and served to the men. Mrs. Phyllis Lewis, head ofthe Douglas Forum and secretary of the YWCA, began organizingweekly dances. Mrs. Randolph Nelson and Mrs. Neva Hopkins were appointed dance chairmen and they contacted local organizations to sponsor dances, which were held at the YMCA, St. Stephens parish house, the Womens Club and the canteen. Mrs. Lewis, through her YWCA affiliation, with the assistance ofMrs. Mary Crowell Read, organized a group ofyoung women, then called ''Young Women of the Douglas Forum" and later known as the 'Victory Belles," under the guidance and chairmanship of Mrs. E. G. Wirick. Mr. Floyd Kimble, athis annualsale ofpedigreed Herefordbulls, donated a bull to the canteen. The animal was sold at auction to Sen. Ralph Cowan and the proceeds given to the canteen. At the time ofthe sale, cattlemen of the district took up a collection to be used for the 19 entertainment of the men stationed in Douglas. The canteen operated atits first location for aboutthree months, then moved to the buildingnow occupiedjointly by the Coca-Cola Co. and YWCA This building was donated by Mr. David Diamos of the Grand Theatre who had it under lease. The number of servicemen in the area was increasing. A detachment ofordinance was assigned to Douglas and upon arrival was housed in the armory (the home ofthe presentUSa). The Douglas Army Air Field was now under construction and men were beginning to come in greater numbers. Beside those activities which were routine with the canteen, there were weddings and wedding receptions; on Mother's Day a Legion Auxiliary Tea for mothers of servicemen; a dance at the Top Hat for the ordinance baseball team (which donated a partofits gate receipts to the canteen); and assisting the Chamber ofCommerce in entertaining two cross country flights from Texas air fields. Douglas began to realize that the recreational needs of these men would soon be greater than the town could supply and local people could handle. Overtures were made to the United Service Organization, through Mr. J. E. Carlson, chairman ofthe usa drive which had been successfully conducted that spring, for an operation to be established in Douglas. Arepresentative from usaheadquarters was sentto Douglas to make a survey and report on the need and the manner in which the usa could best serve the men. Since the 10th Streetbuilding was beingtaken over by the Coca- Cola Co., the YMCA offered the canteen their large north room, and made all the facilities ofthe tty' available to the soldiers at specially re- duced rates. These services included the swimming pool, bowling alleys, pool tables, gymnasium and showers. About this time an aerial photography and engineering group came to Douglas. The United Service Organization sent official repre- sentatives to Douglas to survey possible building locations as well as available buildings. The Special Service Department of the Douglas Army Air Field at this time expressed a deep interest in the recreational facilities ofthe armory, which had been vacated by the ordinance men. There were a numberofgood basketball teams atthefield, so there wasan urgentneed of a gymnasium since the present gym at the base was not then even under construction. Permission was obtained from the custodian ofthe armory by the Special Service Office for theuse ofthebuilding, and they began putting it into shape. At this time the first usa representative, a Mr. Moorman, arrived. Hemetwithmanyofthelocal clubs andotherorganizationsand clarified the aim ofthe usa locally. The United Service Organizations, Inc. assumed the :fmancial obligations of the work Dec. 1, 1942, and 20

requested that the Canteen Corps continue to carry on their work until a staff could be assembled. Mr. Paul McEvoy, thefirstdirector ofthelocal operation, arrived justbefore Christmas, 1942, and almostimmediatelyadded Mrs. Gladys Chambers, the present secretary, to the staff. At the instigation ofthe Special Service Departmentofthe DouglasArmy Air Field, negotiations were begun with the Arizona Commander of the National Guard to obtain the armory for the housing of the usa and an immediate move was made from the YMCA to the armory. At this time an assistant director, Mr. Fred Wolz, was added to the staff. He was later succeeded by the present assistant or program director, William H. Cadwell. As soon as the necessarypapers ofpermission were received, the work ofrenovatingthe armory, which included redecorating, remodeling and refurnishing, was begun. The entire interior of the building underwent a complete change. The operation as it now stands was officially dedicated June 13, 1943. Mr. McEvoy remained director of the work until the following December when he was transferred to another operation, and Mr. Francis C. Schlater was assigned as director ofthe Douglas usa.

Interior view of Douglas usa facility ( CCHAS photos) 22 MEXICAN CRYSTALS: A DOUGLAS CONmmUTION TO THE WAR EFFORT

By Lewis Orrell

The stained glass spanning the divided staircase still shines its jewelled luminescense over the lobby ofthe Gadsden Hotel as it did on a seemingly ordinary dayin 1942. The war newsfor the country that day was unchanged - assurances ofvictory for the Allies, butreports ofmore humiliating defeats. There was little to say about the weather - it was neither hotter nor cooler than usual for May. At the Gadsden, a man was asking the desk clerk for a room. In all respects save one, the man was as unremarkable as the day. He stayed in Douglas another 18 months without leaving an imprint on the community. He cemented ties with only one person in the city and had close business relations with only one or two others. He was never in the public eye yet his appearance in Douglas upgraded the day from ordinary to notable. He would arrange for Douglas to make a unique and valuable contribution to the war effort by supplying Mexican crystals. A few months earlier, space in the hotel had been readily available, often on short notice. But this was 1942 and the war had created a national housing shortage in which Douglas and the Gadsden shared. All the usual commercial and industrial activities in Douglas had expanded and increased the demand for accommodations. For example, the need for beef to feed a growing military establishment and a meat-starved Britain-at-war created a booming cattle business. Cattle buyers and sellers thronged to Douglas and they slept and socialized at the Gadsden Hotel. New activities worsened the situation. The Federal Office of Censorship established an Orwellian operation at the Gadsden to monitor telephone and telegraph traffic along and across the Mexican border. Its equipment and staffwere housed on the top floor ofthe hotel reducing the number of available rooms. l Construction of an Army air base 10 miles north of Douglas brought scores ofadministrators, engi- neers and inspectors to the Gadsden for temporary housing.2 In the face ofthis shortage, the self-assured, would-be guest at the registration desk confidently expected to be accommodated. And he was - and not just for one night, but until he could find permanent housing for his family. This man seldom failed to persuade a potential grantor (from the lowly to the mighty) that his request deserved special consideration, whatever the rules, regulations or scarcity. The new registrant was Dr. (as he habitually introducedhimself to officialdom) Edwin McIntosh Stanton, Jr. He was tall and slender and 23 appeared younger than his 39 years. Hazel eyes were wide-set beneath a high, intelligent forehead. This was topped by an enviable crop of straight, brown hair. Despite a sober expression and direct gaze, he projected a warm personality. He was accompanied by his wife, a pretty brunette of about equal height. An attractive dress complimented her slender figure. 3 Stanton was born in Chicago, Ill., on Mar. 25, 1903,4 the second ofthe four children ofEdwin and Jessie (Moore) Stanton. There are no details ofhis childhood andyouth except thathishigh school career was abruptly terminated. His father put him to work in the family's optometry business three months before his 16th birthday.5 Three years ofmenial tasks apparently convinced Stanton that the rewards ofa profession outweighed the pain ofan education. He took special preparatory work and passed a state examinationfor a certificate of equivalency for a high school diploma. In August of 1922 he became a certificated apprentice to his father and in October he matriculated at the Northern Illinois College of Optometry. As Stanton approached his 21st birthday, he was still working for his father and studying optometry. He must have, however, been acutely aware that attaining his majority would bring him two opportunities. He would be eligible to take an examination for certification as a registered optometrist and be able to marry without parental consent. He opted for both. Once determined on a course of action or a goal, he moved doggedly, aggressively, and, sometimes, blindly. That pattern would repeat. When he applied for the examination, he had not met the requirements for length of apprenticeship or education, but, in the first display ofhis "open sesame" touch, persuaded the examiners to grant him eligibility. Within the next few weeks he and Leola Aikman repeated marriage vows before a county courtjudge.6 This precipitated a crisis as, although he took the examination, he ignored the results (he passed, barely) and did not complete his registration. Stanton's activities from 1924 to 1928 are unknown, but at the end ofthat time he was again picking up the thread of a career in optometry. He paid for his certificate as a registered optometrist on Aug. 28, 1928 and obtained a diploma as Doctor of Optometry (still 139 hours short of the stipulated 1,000 hours of study!).7 For the next 10 years, he practiced in his father's office in Chicago and, beginning in 1934, in an office in nearby Evanston as welJ.8 In 1938 Stanton, Sr., retired in declining health from the State Street business and Stanton, Jr., stood at another fork in the road. He did not enjoy being confmed to an office six days a week. His younger brother, Jack, was practicing optometry in the State Street office and contact between them often produced a shower of sparks.9 Ifhis father's retirement presented an opportunity for ownership of some of the business, he rejected it. Turning his back on optometry for the last time, he left Chicago to become a mineral developer. There is no evidence that Stanton had formal training or prior experience in mining or geology.10 How he immediately beeame estab- lished in a new field ofendeavor is also a mystery, buthe wasted no time starting his new career.ll By May of1939,12 he was miningcrystals ofoptical calcite in New Mexico. His knowledge ofthe mineral and its marketing seems to have derived solely from the minimal relation between his former profession and the field ofindustrial optics. These considerations did not, ofcourse, deter Stanton from his new goal ofbeing an entrepreneur. He leased the Iceberg Lode, which was located in an isolated, mountainous region between Santa Fe and Taos, and began working it with a partner. It could be expected that the Iceberg, as a novice's first 25 venture, would prove worthless. If it paid expenses, that would be unusual. TheIcebergprovedtobethe secondlargestoptical calcitedeposit in the world and the largest yet discovered in the United States.13 When the United States BureauofStandardslaterexaminedcrystalsfrom the Iceberg, they declared them "to be the finest in quality and the largest in size ever known."14 During the life ofthe Iceberg, Stanton recovered in excess of 1,500 pounds of prime-quality, optical crystals. For the next two years, Stanton intermittently worked the Iceberg and visited Washington, D.C. to sell the crystals. Selling the large quantity he was producing was not easy, as annual consumption of optical calcite in the United States had not exceeded 200 pounds. Stanton believedthe country wasfacing a shortage ofcalcite crystals and that it should create a stockpile from his production. Worldwide war conditions, he thought, would not only increase the need for devices containing optical calcite, but would deny the United States access to foreign deposits which had been its only source of supply for over 20 years.I5 He acted to force the government's hand by having a bill for stockpiling introduced in the U.S. Senate. I6 The bill died so on June 5, 1941 Stanton offered to sell the mine and 400 pounds ofcrystals to the federal Office of Production Management for $100,000. Failure of the U.S. Army and Navy "to include optical calcite on the list ofcritical and strategic materials" defeated the proposalY

This 32-pound calcite cleavage rhomb came from the Iceberg deposit which Stanton operated. (New Mexico Museum of Natural History photo) 26 Stanton persisted in trying to interest other government agen- cies, but only the Bureau ofStandards shared his apprehensions. They bought all ofhis crystals theirbudgetwould allow. It was suspected that Germany was aware of Stanton's supply and would try to acquire it by some means. The British government became determined that the crystals be kept from the Germans. By agreement with the U.S. State Department, the British Purchasing Commission bought the balance of Stanton's Iceberg crystals, promising not to export them without prior approval. 18 While promoting his crystals in Washington, D.C., Stanton extended his travels to New York City where he recruited financial backers for new mining ventures. Here he met Madeleine Keough, who he wedded in April of 1941. This was Stanton's second marriage. After the wedding, she and her son, Jere, who took Stanton's name, returned with Stanton to New Mexico. Stanton had moved from SantaFe to Soccoro so hisfamily made ittheirhome. Jere enrolled in the localhigh school and Madeleinehelped herhusband with the work at the Iceberg. 19 Later in 1941, Stanton abruptly stopped work on the Iceberg. It has been suggested that the original vein was although Stanton maintained an active interest in the mine into 1943. Other explanations for depletion of the Iceberg have put forth,21 but in any event Stanton had to look for other deposits to develop. He discovered and filed a claim in southern New Mexico in December of1941. Ifhe worked it, he didn't protect it and subsequently lost it. It was near Trinity, the site ofthe first atomic bomb explosion.22 Having found new financial backers in New York, Stanton emerged in January of 1942 as president of Edwin M. Stanton Associ- ates, Inc.23 With his new company,he aimed for a broader scope of operation - more minesbeing worked and minerals besides calcitebeing recovered. He saw greater opportunity in Mexico for achieving these goals and decided on Douglas as a base ofoperation. Jere went back to New Jersey to spend the summer with his grandmotherwhile his parents drove to Douglas to begin house hunting. It was not until almost time for start of school that Jere was reunited with his parents. The housing shortagein Douglas then was acute. TheDouglas Dispatch appealed to the citizens ofDouglas for rooms.24 The Chamber ofCommerce instituted a special housingservice.26 Newcomers found an answerto theirhousingneedsfrom these sources, sometimes settlingfor cramped, shared quarters. Stanton, however, worked his will and the family moved into a cottage at 636 F Ave. Before Stanton moved permanently to Douglas, he had visited and worked in and out oftown for several months. During this time, he established a relationship with Ben F. Williams, Sr., who became his 27 sponsor, ifnot one of his financial backers.26 Stanton could not have been wiser or luckier than when he successfully solicited Williams as a sponsor. Williams was one of the most influential men in Douglas. He raised cattle on a huge ranch, the Palomas, in the State of Chihuahua. He had an office under the management ofAngel Moreno in Agua Prieta, justover the border from Douglas.27 Earlier, he had travelledfor many years throughout northern Mexico selling mining equipment and he had invested in small mining operations there. The acquaintances, respect and trust he enjoyed throughout the area enabled him to guide Stanton to those people in Mexico who could best help him. Most prospectors spend a lifetime peckingin solitude atthe sides ofmountains in the vain hope that the next outcropping will prove to be the tip oftheir EI Dorado. Not so Stanton. He prospectedfor landowners who already knew of outcroppings or, better, deposits of the type he sought. Thanks to Ben Williams, he found these people quickly and, within months, had opened, or caused to be opened, four deposits of optical calcite.28 Until November of1942, Stanton's sole means oftransportation was the dark-green Plymouth pickup truck he had driven down from

After some time at the Gadsden Hotel, Stanton moved his family to this cottage at 636 F Avenue. (Courtesy Lewis Orrell) 28 This restored Taylorcraft 8-65 is the same vintage as Stanton's craft. (Photo courtesy of plane's restorer, Rollie A. Hatfield) Soccoro. Paved roads were largely non-existent in northern Mexico and travel by truck over the dirtroads was slow and bone-rattling, especially in the mountains where most of his prospects lay.29 Flying was an obvious (and over-simplified) solution to reducingtravel time. So on the 25th ofthe month, he bought a used Taylorcraft BC-65,so barely avoiding a government prohibition against civilian purchase of aircraft.S1 This lightplane with yellow wings andblue fuselage carried only the pilot and one passenger. Ithad no radio and itscockpit was equipped with only three flight instruments. In orderto control the plane, the pilot had to see the ground and the horizon atall times (no flying in fog, clouds or snowstorms), It had a range of about 250 miles at a cruising speed of80mph. Stanton obtained approval for domestic flights and registered his plane with the Fourth Fighter Command in San Francisco. Civilian flying from airport to airport was restricted to urgent defense business, so Stanton must have presented promising and persuasive arguments. One more restriction to his use ofthe plane remained - he didn't know how to fly it. Without membership in the Civil Air Patrol (CAP), permission for flying lessons was limited to those with a defense or military objective. Stanton was not in the CAP, but he was soon taking flying lessons. Although the pioneering transcontinental flights that once stopped at Douglas were gone by 1942, the airport was still active. Its manager was Charlie Mayse, an aviation pioneer whose career was even more venerable than the airport's.32 Mayse added his flying school to the Civilian Pilot Training Program (CAP). The program, established in 1939, was intended to 29

• provide the tens of thousands of airmen who might soon be needed to protectthe country.33Thus the "sky (over Douglas) wasfull ofsmall Tay- lorcrafts darting about:34 When the militaryforbade civilian flying within 150 miles ofthe coast in 1941, scores offlying schools in southern California relocated to Arizona. AmongthemwastheMonroe FlyingSchool which moved to the Douglas airport, increasing the "clutter" in the air. In 1942 CAP was made responsible for aerial patrol of 1,000 miles ofMexican border.35 When Douglas became the western terminus

Carl A. Farnsworth 30 ofthe CAP's Southern Liaison Patrol in July, it became more convenient for people in and around Douglas to join and become eligible for flight training. One ofthe first to take advantage ofthe opportunity was Carl A. Farnsworth. Farnsworth had worked in the underground mines at Bisbee for several years. For a long time he had wanted to learn to fly. Now, he lost no time in joining the CAP and enrolling in the Monroe School. His first instructor was Orville Wyett who was followed by C. B. Branen. Before Farnsworth finished training, Stantonbecame another of Branen's students. Farnsworth completed instruction not very long afterStanton started, butStanton did notobtainhis pilot's certificatefor another 10 months.36 In the meanwhile, he arranged for Farnsworth to pilot the Taylorcraft on his frequent business trips throughout Arizona and New Mexico. During the next several months, they became fast friends. As 1943 approached mid-year, the tempo of Stanton's mining affairs quickened and so didtheaffairs ofthe communityofDouglas. The Army Air Force completed construction of its new base and started a flying school. Originally intended for training bombardiers, the base was converted to an advanced flying school to train cadets and officers in piloting twin-engine aircraft. Thebase contributed a greatdeal to the economic life ofDouglas. Tons of refrigerated meat, fresh vegetables and other supplies were purchased in or trucked from Douglas to the base each day. Anyone in Douglas willing to work (and some not so willing) found employment at the base. The base also contributed to the social life of Douglas. Reflect- ingthe military's ever-presentconcern withmorale, the Douglas Airbase provided liberal amounts of entertainment, primarily for base person- nel, but frequently for the community as well. Often the biggest stars and biggest productions were presented. Edgar Bergen and Charlie Mc- Carthy, the USO Camel Caravan and the USO Cavalcade of Music appeared at the base in one two-week period alone. The advanced flying school usually had several professional musicians on its roster and used them well. Besides entertaining at the base, they presented musical programs on Saturday afternoons at the Lyric Theater on 10th Street. These performances were always well attended by the people of Douglas and were very popular.37 The best remembered of those entertaining in Douglas were Matt Dennis, jazz pianist, later with the Glenn Miller Air Force Orches- tra; and Joe Bushkin, trumpeter, pianist, composer, arranger and coach, later with the AAF "Winged Victory Shows."38 The singing cowboy, John "Dusty" King (Sgt. Miller Everson) was always a hit.

31 "Dusty" had appeared on the screen in over a score offilms (from romantic leads to "westerns") by the time he enlisted in 1942.39 Thus his audience, especiallyyoung boys, felt a special bondingwhen he strode on stage. None was more loyal than Jere Stanton who was a staunch "Dusty" King fan. Except for Jere's attendance at the Saturday afternoon musical shows, the social interaction between the airbase and the communitydid not attract the Stantons. The family remained alooffrom all aspects of community life. Ifthey attended church or belonged to fraternal or civic organizations, there is no record ofit nor is it remembered. Many in the communityhad neither the time nor the inclination during wartime for a social life. Most, however, were more attentive to civic responsibilities than the Stantons. Neither ofthe adults registered to vote in Douglas and Dr. Stanton never changed the registration ofhis pickup from New Mexico to Arizona. Athough he was quick to empha- size, whenever it might make an impression, that he was acting in Douglas and Mexico in the capacity of president ofStanton Associates, he never registered his corporation with the State of Arizona.

The Stantons moved from the F Avenue cottage into the Packard Apart- ments, which were above the First National Bank, the southwest corner of G Avenue and 10th Street. Behind the bank were the Palomar Hotel and armory bUilding, which housed the Douglas usa. (CCHAS photo)

32 IfStanton hadlittle timefor social activities, hehadeven lessfor yard work and house chores. The situation called for an apartment requiring no maintenance and because he was still attentive and affectionate toward his bride of two years, he wanted a more modem residence for her. Stanton worked his magic on the housing shortage for the third time and moved his family to the Packard Apartments. These were above the First National Bank at the comer of 10th Street and G Avenue. Perhaps he had been helped by his flight instructor, Branen, who also lived at the Packard.40 In any event, this was a prudent move, as circumstances were to thrust Stanton into another expansion ofhis activities. He was about to learn that Polaroid Corporation was looking for calcite crystals. Polaroid had been seeking calcite crystals with cyclic earnest- ness for almost a year by the summer of 1943. The company used the crystals in a unique device it had invented and developed for the U.S. Navy. It had been supplying the military, primarily the Navy, with research and products for almost three.. years after signing the first contract for product development with the Navy in 1940.41 Polaroid's productivity earned three Navy "E" Awards for excellence prior to Pearl Harbor and the reputationfor beingthe Navy'sforemost problem-solver. The prime motivator at Polaroid was Dr. Edwin Land, who held three corporate titlesincludingdirector ofresearch. Land wasconvinced that victory in the war would go to the combatant with scientific superiority. "The thought drove him, and he drove his people."42 In the early spring of 1942, Land was in Washington for a meeting with the Navy's Bureau ofOrdnance. Concluding his business with one young officer, Land paused, then pleaded, "Give us something more to do for the war effort." After a few moments of reflection, the officer listed the unsatisfactory characteristics ofa telescopic bomb sight in use on dive bombers. He then described the features for an effective sight. With this, Land left for the return flight to his laboratory in Cambridge, Mass. 43 Early the next morning, Land entered the office of one of his several bright, young physicists and asked for calcite crystals. He explained thathe had formed the conceptfor a new aiming device during the returnflight from Washington on the previous evening.44 He needed the crystalsfor a working model. Within very few days, Land phoned the Bureau ofOrdnance offering to show the young officer a prototype ofthe sight, ifhe were willing to meet him halfway. They met the next day in the terminal at LaGuardia Airport in New York City where Land demonstrated the first optical ring sight. The optical ring sight was unique in that there was only the one element (no front and rear sights) which displayed a series ofconcentric, colored circles when a distant object was viewed through it. When mounted on a gun, once the target was fixed in the central circle, 33 The Mark 3 optical ring sight was manufactured by Polaroid Corp. The protective covers of this sight are folded to the left (photo courtesy Dept. of Geology, Bryn Mawr College) movement ofthe gunner'shead did notdisturb the alignmentofgun and target. Thisfeature offered greatpromisefor the sightin aimingflexible anti-aircraft guns. In addition, the sight was light-weight, simple, inexpensive to manufacture and did not require electrical illumination.45 The Navy and, later, the Army Ground Forces and the Army Air Forces were captivated by the device. The Navy immediately made two tentative assignments ofthe sight to weapon systems in order to rush it into production. The sight was constructed ofseven laminations ofoptical mate- rials, the most critical of which was a wafer of sub-optical calcite. Thus the Navy's orders for the sight thrust Polaroid into the marketfor calcite crystals. The differences between true optical calcite, which had been Stanton's objective, and sub-optical calcite were not great but they were significant. To qualify as true optical calcite, a crystal must be perfect in every respect. Sub-optical calcite crystals mightcontain traces ofcolor and a few minor imperfections. The significance lay in the fact that however small or large an amount oftrue optical calcite a deposit might yield, it would also yield many times that amount of sub-optical. The prospects for producing at a profit were enormously enhanced. From springof1942 until mid-1943, the military knew only that itbelievedin the usefulness ofthe sightandmightneed a lotofthem, but had trouble deciding how many and when. With characteristic agres- siveness, Land directed his company to be prepared by establishing an adequate, dependable supply of crystals. A deposit in the California desert was identified, developed and put into production in the fall of 34 1942. A few months later, one in Montana was opened. Initially, these seemed adequate to meet the uncertain production schedules for the sight. By July of 1943, Polaroid had firm orders for delivery of 16,000 sights and prospects for orders for another 174,000. They had on hand only 500 pounds of crystals and needed another 7,500 pounds almost immediately for the firm orders alone.4G Production ofcrystals at the two domestic sources was much lower than expected and much more expen- sive than predicted. Consequently, when Stanton somehow 47 became aware of Polaroid's needs in July and offered to supply crystals, Polaroid encour- aged him to do so. Both he and Ben Williams were stimulated by this expanded opportunity and, their deposits in Sonora being depleted, intensified and extended their searches into Chihuahua. Shortly thereafter, a deposit southwestofCreel, Chihuahuawas brought to the attention of C. R. King. An American mining engineer living in Chihuahua City, his help had been sought in finding a market for the crystals. Through King's inquiries in the United States, Polaroid became aware of the find and arranged for Stanton to examine the deposit with King. A small amount ofwork showed the deposit to have commercial value and Stanton quickly forged an agreement with the owner. He would buy crystals from the mine and import them to Douglas. There, he would sort the crystals into true optical and sub-optical grades.48 The first were to be sold under contract to Bausch & Lomb and the second under contract to Polaroid. Stanton now had assured customers for amounts of crystals he could not have imagined previously. Stanton pressed forward vigorously on two fronts. He worked diligently to find and motivate others to find more calcite deposits and moved to solidify his arrangement with Polaroid. King, Martin Nesbitt of Chihuahua City and others searched the area around Creel while Stanton concentrated on northern Chihuahua. As Stanton intensifiedhis Mexican explorations, he was quick to include Farnsworth in them as his companion, guide and informal partner. Farnsworth had been born in Colonia Garcia, one ofthe several Mormon colonies in Chihuahua. He had worked on cattle ranches there and had guided hunting parties through the rugged mountains. Like all the members of the colonies, he was bilingual Moreover, he had relatives and friends in each of the colonies who could be helpful to Stanton. . The region Stanton and Farnsworth were exploringwas rugged, sparsely-populated terrain in the eastern Sierra Madre Mountains, much ofit accessible only on horseback. On one trip they stopped for horses and food at the home of one of Farnsworth's aunts in Chuhuich- upa, the southernmost ofthe Mormon colonies. In the course ofthe meal, Stanton explained the purpose and object of their searches. A Farns- worth cousin then volunteered that he knew where to fmd crystals. He did indeed and led them to a limestone cavern in a bank oftheAres River that contained crystals weighing as much as a ton.49 By mid-October Stanton had shipped to Polaroid 157 pounds of 36 "very fine quality" crystals, promised another 500 pounds by Nov. 6, and given assurances ofmany tons oflike quality, ifhe were able to expand his operation. Thereupon, Polaroid recommended that the War Produc- tion Board CWPB) should order 6,000 pounds ofcrystals from Stanton at a price of$15 per pound and should advance Stanton $37,500. Polaroid and Bausch & Lomb agreed to keep Stanton in operation until Nov. 15 while the proposal was studied. On Oct. 28, the Navy advised the WPB that its requirement for sights hadjumped to 100,000 and asked the WPB to "assist the Polaroid Corporation in obtaininga supply ofMexican calcite... " In early Novem- ber, President Roosevelt signed an order proclaiming optical calcite to be critical to the war effort. The last bureaucratic roadblock to decisive action by the WPB had been removed. Navy Lt. Frank W. McGinnis was the production officer respon- sible for procurementofthe sights for the Bureau ofOrdnance. "He was a very earnest young man" who pressured the WPB for calcite produc- tion. "In his view the outcome of tbe war depended on this."50 With

Lt. Francis W. McGinnis (National Personnel Records Center photo) 37

- optical calcite declared critical, he increased the pressure. Stanton went to Washington (and, perhaps, Cambridge) to nego- tiate conditions for supplying Mexican calcite and there was a meeting ofrepresentatives ofthe Navy, WPC, Foreign Economic Administration and Polaroid. A definite agreement was reached which made Stanton the sole supplier of calcite crystals from Mexico. The government, Polaroid and Bausch & Lomb agreed to refer all inquiries regarding sale of Mexican calcite to him. There was one proviso - that McGinnis examine the two large deposits Stanton had reported. IfMcGinnis was satisfied with their potential, the WPB would grant Stanton a two- month production trial. R. B. McCormick at the WPB was in charge of the program to maintain a supply of quartz crystals for the war effort and was the key person organizing the belated program for supply ofoptical calcite. He was the one who most directly felt the pressure from McGinnis. On Nov. 13, McGinnis visited McCormick confinning that he and Stanton were soon to be in Mexico. The next day, Sunday, McGinnis rough-housed with his 9-month-old son, Francis II, said some apprecia- tive words to his wife, Ursula, on the progress ofher second pregnancy, and, as he left. to join Stanton, gave her a goodbye kiss. It was to be their last.

The barranca. or ravine, in Chihuahua's Sierra Las Brenas in which Stanton's plane crashed. (Photo by Lewis Orrell) 38 Douglas International Airport (now municipal) as it looked in 1943 when Stanton and McGinnis took off on their last flight. (Courtesy Cindy Hayostek)

The men planned to examine King's deposit first. The EI Porvenir, below Creel, could be reached from EI Paso by rail, truck and foot. The duo would then double back to EI Paso and go west by train to Douglas. At Douglas, they would again cross the border to examine Stanton's find south ofChuhuichupa. Returning to Douglas, McGinnis would find either military air or train travel back to Washington, D. C. The El Porvenir waslocated over 300 airmiles south ofEl Paso. Themostdirectaccess to itwasbyrailfrom CuidadJuarezto Creel. They met King either en route to Chihuahua City or at Creel where he or Batista, owner ofthe mine, supplied a truck and/or horses. From Creel, they went by truck through Pito Real and Areponapuchic to Monterde. This was a long, slow ride, in part along a railroad bed under construc- tion. A walk ofabout 1-1/2 hours from Areponapuchic brought them to the Rio Urique canyon. The deposit was about 1,200 feet below the rim ofthe west wall ofthe canyon.52

39 Attestingto the difficult travel conditions, the men did notarrive in Douglas until the morning of the 24th. McGinnis immediately telephoned McCormick in Washington asking for help in obtaining an export license for mining equipment Stanton was ready to take into Mexico. He confirmed the existence ofEI Porvenir and a "considerable amount of material above ground" (apparently, much less than the 20 tonsboastedbyStanton). When thelicense wasreceived, he andStanton would return to Mexico to make arrangements for transportation ofthe material to the United States. McCormick had the license for Stanton within two hours of the call. Shortly after noon and in good weather, Stanton and McGinnis left for Chuhuichupa in the Taylorcraft. Farnsworth saw them off. It was the day before Thanksgiving and their families would have to enjoy the traditional turkey without them. The plan for this leg of the inspection trip called for Stanton to pilot the pair to a landing in a cow pasture in Chuhuichupa late that afternoon. His flight plan went east to Janos, south over Casas Grandes and, avoiding the mountains to the west, down the valley to a point opposite Chuhuichupa. Here he would tum west, circling below a high peak into his landing. Farnsworth was to leave Douglas early the next morning in Stanton's battered, green Plymouth pickup, carrying gasoline and the ,mining equipment. Stanton and McGinnis would borrow horses from Farnsworth's cousins and ride to the caverns along the Ares. Returning to the plane, they would refuel and fly to Chihuahua City to meet King again. Here they would work outdetails for exporting the EI Porvenir crystals and Stanton would pay Kingfor quartz crystals he had supplied and for his work at the EI Porvenir. Iffurther refueling were necessary, this was available at the well-established air field at Chihuahua City. The return from there to Douglas was a fairly easy flight. Farnsworth arrived at Chuhuichupa on schedule and was per- plexed when he did not see the plane. Recognizing that Stanton might have reversed the travel plan after take-off, he settled in to await the plane's arrival. When the plane did not appear by the second day, he retraced his route to Colonia Juarez where he telephoned Ben Williams. The men had neither returned to Douglas nor had been heard from en route. Williams alerted Polaroid and the Navy to the missing men and plane. Polaroid immediately hired a pilot in Chihuahua City to make search flights. These were unproductive. The Navy arrangedfor the Air Force to make aerial searches from the Douglas Airbase. These were conducted until Dec. 13 when the search was canceled. In view of his Civil Air Patrol status and his knowledge of the terrain, Farnsworth flew some of the flights as an observer. All the 40 conscientious effort was to no avail - the men and the plane had disappeared. The State Department sought the cooperation of the Mexican government in publicizing the missing plane. Advertisements in Eng- lish and Spanish were placed urging citizens ofboth countries to look for the plane. Naval Intelligence investigated the disappearance butfound no clues. The censorship office in the Gadsden Hotel monitored two telephone calls originatingin Mexico that reported the wreckage butthe sightings were never confirmed. Finally, in August of 1944, two men hunting deer in an isolated, tortuous region of the Sierra La Brefias stumbled upon the wreckage. The plane, largely intact, rested on the steep slope of a narrow ravine, just short of a pass, the lowest within a considerable distance, called Puerto EI Avion. The cause of the fatal crash-landing is uncertain. Reports, collected afterthe disappearance, ofhearingorseeingtheplaneinflight, of weather conditions and of flight path were often contradictory. The most probable situation was that Stanton left his intended flight path down the valley to follow, in clear weather, the road he had driven many times to Chuhuichupa. For some reason, low clouds oran exhaustedfuel supply, he changed his mind and attempted to return to the valley through the Puerto EI Avion pass. For lack ofonly a few feet in altitude, the plane clipped the tip of a tall pine tree in the saddle of the pass and pancaked against the side ofthe ravine. IfStanton added risk to the flight, it was in changing his flight path with a plane he understood to be marginally powered for flying over the mountains. Mormons from Colonia Juarez, local officials, the Mexican gov- ernment, the Army, the Navy and the State Department all cooperated in the difficult physical and political business of recovering the bodies, which were soon returned to Douglas. Because ofthe terrain and the location, the plane could not be removed and was a total loss. When prospects offindingthe men alive dimmed, Ursula McGin- nis moved from Arlington, Va., back to Alameda, Ca., to build for herself and her two small sons a new life amongherfamily. Madeleine andJere Stanton had remained in Douglas after the disappearance ofthe plane, hoping for favorable word of husband and father. With the return of Stanton's body, their vigil ended and they returned to New Jersey, their emotional and financial resources exhausted. WhenitbecameapparentthatStanton'splanewouldnotsoonbe located, Williams replaced Stanton as Polaroid's contract agent and King replaced Stanton in the field. Williams later reported that he solved the problem ofexpeditingcrystals outofMexico and into Douglas with some unorthodox methods for cutting red tape.53 For the next year, until the calcite procurement program was 41 closed in November of 1944, Williams was the broker who, in effect, bought the crystals shipped from Mexico and resold them to Bausch & Lomb and Polaroid. If the War Production Board made the same arrangement with him that they had proposed to Stanton, Williams' gross profit for the year was about $80,000. King workedvery effectivelyin thefield. For a timehe wasaided by O. A Reese, a mineral collector from Colorado Springs, Col., who traveled from mine to mine teaching the mine operators how to select and cleave crystals. By the end ofthe project, more than 30 deposits and districts had been explored and/or developed. With terrible irony, the deposits near Creel, which Stanton and McGinnis examined by land, produced more crystalsthan any other mine in Mexico save the La Fe, while the crystals in the Ares caverns, which they were flying to examine, proved worth- less. By the time the program ended in November of 1944, Douglas had contributed to the American war effort 11,734 pounds of Mexican crystals - enough for over 23,000 optical ring sights.54 These were supplied at the lowest cost of any producer in the Navy's program. The optimism of Stanton and McGinnis over the potential of the Mexican deposits was vindicated. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

A listing ofeach ofthe persons who so graciously and willingly provided data for this study would be almost as long as the article. However, the untiring and unstinting research collaboration of Ross Whistler of Massachusetts, the many communications of Mr. and Mrs. Carl A. Farnsworth ofMissouri and the assistance and encouragementofCindy Hayostek of Douglas must be cited individually. The author's debt to each and every person is sincerely and gratefully acknowledged. NOTES

1. Telephone interviews with Capt. William Ronstadt, USN, retired, on 1/16/89 and 1/16/90. 2. History of the Army Air Force Advanced Flying School at Douglas, Arizona, vI, 1942,52. Historical Services Branch, Office of Air Force History, Bolling AFB, Washingtori, D.C. (Hereinafter, "AAFAFS History"). 3. Profiles of Dr. & Mrs. E. M. Stanton, Jr., were assembled from data contained in State Department reports and from descriptions furnished by Carl A Farnsworth. 4. Certificate of Birth #163393, Department of Public Health, State of Illinois. 42 5. Application of Edwin McIntosh Stanton, Jr., for registration as registered optometrist, Department of Registration and Education, State of Illinois. All further statements regarding Stanton's registration are taken from the application or attachments thereto. 6. Marriage License #1024927, issued by Stanley T. Kusper, Jr., County Clerk for Cook County, State of Illinois, shows Stan- ton and Aikman to have been married by Joel C. Fitch, a judge of the county court, on Apr. 21, 1924. 7. The title for his degree is stated in a letter from Delores L. King, records officer, Illinois College of Optometry, dated Sept. 30, 1987. 8. The Blue Book of Optometrists and Opticians, 1924, 1928-1940. Professional Press, Inc., Chicago, II. Communica- tion, librarian, Los Angeles College of Optometry, 2/1190. 9. Correspondance, Carl A. Farnsworth, Downing, Mo., July 27, 1989. 10. Inquiries to most ofthe mining colleges in the country failed to produce evidence of Stanton's having enrolled in any formal mining or geology curriculum. 11. Illinois College of Optometry, op. cit., cites a mailing address for Stanton in New Mexico as early as Feb. 16, 1939. 12. Vincent C. Kelley, "Iceland Spar in New Mexico," American Mineralogist, v25 (1940), 357. 13. Stuart A. Northrop, Minerals of New Mexico, Albuquerque (1959), 161. The world's largest deposit (long exhausted) was in Iceland, from which optical calcite derived the name "Iceland Spar." 14. R. B. McCormick, "Optical Calcite Policies and Procedures of the War Production Board and Predecessor Agencies," His- tory of the Miscellaneous Minerals Division, 139. Na- tional Archives, Washington, D.C. Some of the cleaved crystals from the Iceberg were very large, ranging from over five pounds to almost 34 pounds. A crystal weighing 32 pounds, and believed to have come from the Iceberg, is now in the Smithsonian collection. It is the next largest in the world, second only to one in the British Museum. 15. Lauren A. Wright, "Calcite," Mineral Commodities of California, Bulletin 156, revised, December, 1957. Califor- nia Division of Mines, Sacramento. 16. Senate Bill 4401, dated Oct. 7 (legislative day, Sept. 18), introduced by Hon. Dennis Chavez, U.S. Senator from New Mexico. 17. McCormick, loco cit. 43 18. Memo, Folsom to Heiss, National Defense Commission, Dec. 21,1940; RG179, Records of the War Production Board, File 528.22, optical calcite, National Archives, Washington, D.C. (Hereinafter, "WPB Records"). It was understood that the Germans were using optical calcite prisms in range finders to reduce the glare over water. 19. Telephone interview with "Doc" Zellers of Dixon, N.M., Jan. 19,1989, who remembers seeing two men and a woman working the Iceberg. 20. Letter from Arthur Montgomery, former owner of the Harding Pegmatite Deposit and the adjacent Iceberg, Feb. 3, 1990. 21. After Stanton worked the Iceberg for about a year, the origi- nal owners were bought out by a Robert D. Thompson, who kept the claim in force for many years. It is unlikely that either Stanton or Thompson would offer to sell to the govern- ment in mid-year a deposit they even suspected was nearing exhaustion. Gwinn (G. Richards Gwinn, "Mining Optical Minerals," Mining Congress Journal, May 1945, 70) has stated flatly that the original vein was destroyed in a quarrel over ownership although it has not been possible to confirm this from other sources. After Stanton's abrupt severance with the Iceberg, he continued to visit Thompson as late as 1943, probably to see whether continued development pro- duced a new vein or saleable crystals from the old. Destruc- tion of the Iceberg seems best to fit the circumstances. 22. Office ofthe County Clerk, Socorro, N.M. Claim filed Dec. 29, 1941. For want of$100 of work each year, Stanton lost the opportunity to sell the claim in 1944. It was very close to Trinity, site ofthe first atomic bomb explosion and the Army included its location in the White Sands Missile Range (letter from Albert L. McNeil, Real Estate Division, Albuquerque District Corps ofEngineers, dated Feb. 15, 1989). 23. Certificate offiling, State Corporation Commission of New Mexico, dated Feb. 12, 1942, t9 which is attached a certificate of incorporation in New York State, dated Jan. 23, 1942. 24. AAFAFS History, v2, 184-5. 25. Telephone interview with Mrs. Jessie Butler Marusich, Phoenix, Ariz., Dec. 9, 1989. Mrs. Marusich was secretary to Michael McCue, head of the housing bureau at the Douglas Chamber of Commerce. 26. Carl Fries, Jr., Optical Calcite Deposits of the Republic of Mexico, Geological Survey Bulletin 954-D (1948), 117. U. S. Department of the Interior (Hereinafter, "Fries"). Fries states that Stanton began his search for quartz and calcite 44 crystals in Sonora as early as 1941 "with the aid and under the sponsorship of Ben F. Williams..." Ben Williams, Jr., believes that "sponsorship" meant guidance and introduc- tions, not financial assistance. 27. Teresa Williams Irvin, Let the Tail Go with the Hide (EI Paso, 1984), 161-5, 178-183. 28. Fries, op. cit., 167-170, 172, 175. 29. Stanton was later to say that he acquired the plane for "prospecting" in Mexico. He may not have known of it, but pilots of the New Hampshire Wing of the Civil Air Patrol did locate from the air 10 outcroppings of mica, one of the critical minerals on Stanton's prospecting list. They later extended their search to include beryl, feldspar and quartz - another on Stanton's list. See Robert E. Neprud, Flying Minute Men: The Story of the Civil Air Patrol, New York 1988, 32. 30. Bill of sale, Civil Aeronautics Administration form ACA 502. Williams (see Irvin, op. cit., 179) states that the Navy "au- thorized me to buy a plane for Stanton to use." However, the purchase was made a year before either Stanton or Williams had any affiliation with the Navy's program for optical calcite. 31. Patricia Strickland, The Putt·Putt Air Force, Federal Aviation Administration, 1970,82. "By 1943 ...the War Production Board ...halted the sale, lease, rental, trade or delivery of any airplane to anyone other than the Defense Plant Corporation." 32. Ruth M. Reinhold, Sky Pioneering: Arizona in Aviation History. Tucson, 1982,36-7. 33. ibid., 122-5. 34. ibid., 194. 35. ibid., 200. 36. Neprud, op. cit., 11,47. 37. Pilot certificate #390455 with a rating for single-engine airplane, land, dated Oct. 14, 1943. Airman certification notification, DOT Federal Aviation Administration, dated Nov. 12, 1987. 38. Telephone interview with Mrs. Janet Willis, Yuma, Ariz., Dec. 9,1989. 39. Leonard Feather, Encyclopedia ofJazz, New York, 1960. Lynn Farnell Group, ed. ASCAP Biographical Dictionary, New York 1966. 40. Michael R. Pitts, Western Movies, Jefferson (NC) 1986. Interview, NFIS Research, Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences, 1/25/90. 41. 1942 Douglas city directory. 42. Peter C. Wensberg, Land's Polaroid, Boston 1987,68,74. 45 43. Wensberg, loco cit. 44. Interview with Stanley S. Ballard, Ltr. Cmdr. USN retired, at University of Florida, Gainesville, Apr. 25, 1986. 45. Telephone interview with Dexter P. Cooper, Jr., former physi cist with Polaroid, Oct. 21, 1989. 46. For a more complete description of the optical ring sight and of the optical ring sight program, see F. L. Orrell and Ross Whistler, itA Sight So Good It Almost Succeeded," Periodi- cal, Journal of the Council on America's Military Past, v15, n4, 3-14. 47. McCormick, op. cit., 142. 48. Fries, op. cit., 117. 49. Ben Williams, Jr. recalls seeing someone grading crystals in the backyard ofhis father's home. It is unfortunate that he cannot positively identify that person as Stanton, as this would confirm a business relationship between his father and Stanton prior to late November, 1943. 50. Carl A. Farnsworth, loco cit., and Fries, op. cit., 173. 51. Letter, Simon D. Strauss, former vice-president of Metals Reserve Co., a subsidiary of the WPB, Dec. 9, 1986. 52. Fries, op. cit., 155-6. 53. Irvin, op. cit., 162-4. t4. Fries, op. cit., 150. About the author: Lewis Orrell and his collaborator, Ross Whistler, began their study ofthe optical calcite program and the optical ring sight program five years ago when Orrell was living in the vicinity of the California crystal recovery operation. Orrell is preparinga book describ- ing the full scope ofboth programs. BOOK REVIEWS by Cindy Hayostek

Border: The U.S.-Menco Line by Leon C. Metz, Mangan Books, 6245 Snow heights, El Paso, Texas 79912, 476 pages, maps and photographs, $29.95.

It has to be said right at the start - the title of this book really ought to be "Border: The Texas-Mexico Line" for it focuses the vast majority ofits pages on Texas and the Mexican states next to it. In the first half of the book, which examines the period up until the Mexican Revolution, Geronimo and the soldiers who pursued him get four pages while Col. Greene and the 1906 activity at Cananea get the same amount. The Arizona-Sonora portion of the border can't be ignored when talking about the Revolution, but after that, with a chapter or two thrown in about the Colorado River, it's back to Texas. This is not to say the book is without merit. It's well written and the amount of research El Paso resident Metz put in to his 10th book is apparent. Even so, the book is hamstrung by other problems. One is the totally inappro- priate cover. The blue-green watercolor doesn't begin to convey the border's desert splendor. Other demerits are the perfunctory maps and photographs which tend to be "mug shots." Metz ends his book by looking at too border in more recent times. The bracero program, maquilas and illegal aliens all come in for commentary, making for a well- rounded look at conditions in a truly unique area - the border, whether it be along the 1,253 miles of the Rio Grande or the entire 1,951 miles between the U.S. and Mexico.

In Search of Jesus Garcia by Don Dedera, Prickly Pear Press, P.O. Box 42, Payson, AZ 85547,132 pages, numerous photographs, map,&, soft cover, $7.95.

On Nov. 7, 1907, railroad engineer Jesus Garcia lost his life as he chose to stay atthe throttle ofhis trainand takeit and a load ofburning dynamite out ofNacozari, Son. This heroic effort that saved countless lives has been generously recognized in Mexico with numerous monuments and an annual celebration in Nacozari with which many Cochise County residents are familiar. What is not as readily recognized, was Jesus Garcia the loving son and brother, Jesus Garcia the hombre who- wore his hat at a rakish angle, and Jesus Garcia the competent and hard working man. In addition, Garcia's deed was not widely recognized outside of Mexico. Dedera started to remedy this situation in 1963 when the then Arizona Republic columnist wrote about Garcia. He soon learnedhis column was full oferrors and over the next 13 years conducted an off-and-on search for the true facts about Garcia. The result was 1976's "Goodbye Garcia, Adios" - a hard cover book published inEnglish and Spanish by Northland Press. Now Dedera has, in essence, re-issued the book. The copy of"In Search ofJesus Garcia" is almost the same as "Goodbye Garcia, Adios." There are some minor changes and corrections, but huge chunks of copy are exactly the same in both books. The photographs too are much the same. This, however, does not detract from the importance ofGarcia's story. In a time when there seem to be few true heroes, the story of Garcia and his ultimate sacrifice to save the town he lived in is worthy of note. After "Goodbye Garcia, Adios" was published, many copies of the book were distributed to schools and libraries in an effort to make children understand what a hero really is. One hopes this will happen again.